Muggle
by UNJELLIFY
Summary: The wizarding world is in danger as madman Sirius Black is on the loose from Azkaban, and with the surprising arrival of a particularly unique student, things at Hogwarts have been complicated even more.  PoA - with a big twist. Not a vampire romance!
1. Chapter One: She Sleeps

Hi, thankyou for not being deterred by the awful summary - this is my first fanfiction but I've been writing it for a while, so I hope you like it!  
I recommend you view in Sans-Serif and 3/4 to 1/2 - it's the closest to how the story looks on Word.

_Disclaimer: I do not own, in any form, the characters or places mentioned in this novel that were published previous to this fiction. Rights of said creations go to J.K. Rowling._

The story takes place during Prisoner of Azkaban, though some side plots (e.g. Buckbeak) have been omitted or tweaked.

**Ch****apter One: She Sleeps**

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The rushing countryside soon parted to reveal a stone platform lit at regular intervals by old-fashioned gas lanterns that cast a thick yellow fog hanging in the air. As the train squealed steadily to a halt, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred and George naturally looked out of their window – only to clap eyes on a peculiar sight. Their vision was clouded due to the pelting rain outside, and even after Ron had wiped his sleeve against the condensation covered glass, it was difficult to make out the shapes before them.

What appeared to be a young, female figure was lying still on the stone. She was clothed in some sort of white cloak, and her hair was a short and bouncy platinum blonde.  
"Is she one of ours?" Harry asked, his voice clogged with worry.  
Before his question could be answered, however, a large brown blur appeared, leaning over the mystery female. Within a minute, another figure, cloaked in robes of a brilliant purple, had Apparated from thin air, a woman in jade at his side. These three adults were easily recognisable as Rubeus Hagrid, Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall: the school groundskeeper and Care of Magical Creatures teacher, a huge man with a heart of gold and a love for every being, be it clawed or fanged or able to tear a man to shreds with the smallest of efforts; the Headmaster of Hogwarts, a wise and powerful wizard whose half-moon glasses couldn't disguise the sparkle in his eyes, and who had a particular fondness for sherbet lemons; and the Deputy Headmistress who cared deeply under her strict and stern exterior, and could transfigure into a tabby cat at will. The odd trio were not looking happy. They were immersed in conversation, each frowning and shaking their heads in dismay. Then, strangely, Dumbledore lifted his head and gazed directly at their compartment. He raised his aged hand and muttered a few words – the spatters of rain immediately cleared from their window, allowing the astonished children to fully comprehend the situation.

Hagrid lifted the girl in white, holding her in an upright position. She looked roughly fifteen and had a petite frame, but a feminine figure. With the new view it was plain to see that she was wearing a costume wig; her eyes were closed and her cheekbones prominent. Her lips had been painted a vivid ruby and a small mole graced her right cheek, just above them.

Hermione let out a gasp.  
"Marilyn Monroe," she breathed. The boys were bewildered – the reason being that they had no idea who the person Hermione had mentioned was. "She was an American movie starlet of the 1950s, a national – and global – sensation. Many believe her acting career was built mostly on her appearance and figure, but nevertheless the world was in shock when she was discovered dead at home in her early thirties."  
"That's great, Hermione – but who's _this_ girl?" Ron asked, puzzled.  
"If you'd let me finish," Hermione snapped irritably, "Marilyn was immortalised in an infamous scene from a movie she starred in, in which she stood above a subway – train system, you know – grate and the skirt of her dress billowed upwards. This girl is clearly emulating her for some reason... maybe she was attending a fancy dress party?"

Throughout the entirety of Hermione's long-winded explanation, Dumbledore had been watching with a tiny smile on his bearded face. He excused himself from Hagrid and McGonagall's sides before pacing directly to their carriage on the train. A moment later, the doors to their compartment were sliding open.  
"Miss Granger, you have just been extremely helpful in saving me to explain. Ten points to Gryffindor house. Now, if the five of you would care to step off the train and follow me, please..."  
Feeling the eyes of every other student aboard the Hogwarts Express boring into them, the boys and Hermione hurried after their headmaster to the perplexing scene.  
"Rubeus, Minerva," Dumbledore began, in a cautious and polite tone, "I have enlisted the help of these fine students – you both have other duties regarding the remainder of the pupils to attend to. I'm sure they will all be fervent to find out more about this occurrence, but I highly recommend we keep it under our hoods for now."  
Professor McGonagall nodded, her eyebrows knitted together with worry, but Hagrid opened his mouth – which was surrounded by a knotted mass of thick beard – to protest.  
"Who's gon' ter carry her then? I can' take her ter the lake with the firs' years, now, can I?"

Dumbledore twiddled his own silvery beard and examined the children before him. His scrutinising gaze rested on the very tall Fred and George, whose stares were transfixed on the unknown girl.  
"Excellent point, Rubeus – but I'm sure these two strapping chaps can take care of her to the castle. Mr and Mr Weasley, I'm certain you won't mind, hm?" he asked, his eyes glinting with amusement.  
The twins looked like they had just won a thousand gold Galleons, but remembering the solemnity of the setting, they tried to tame their eager grins into serious expressions.  
"I'm sure we could do that for you, yes," Fred said, and a second later the girl was being cradled between him and George. Her head tipped back before George could move his hand to support it, causing her blonde wig to drop to the floor and reveal a fan of wavy, gently layered honey-blonde hair that probably hung a few inches past her shoulder when she was standing. Harry stooped to collect the wig, and the group proceeded through the dwindling rain to the long line of hooded carriages that would take them to Hogwarts. These carriages would appear to move at will – students had trivially wondered for years whether they were enchanted or pulled by invisible creatures.

Professor Dumbledore stopped at the nearest one and spun around to face his silent students.  
"There are too many of us to squeeze in, so I shall make my own way to my office and leave you to it. When you reach the castle, meet me in there. Ice mice," he muttered, before tipping his hat to them and beginning to murmur to himself. "Not the time for this, not at all..." With a small _pop_, he had vanished, leaving the baffled students with the problem of arranging themselves in the carriage.  
"You can't prop her upright, it'd be ghastly," Hermione shuddered. The group stood thinking for a minute, until Ron suggested they lie her down on one side of the coach and sit on the other. The idea proved to be useless ("We couldn't all possibly fit on one side, they only seat three,"), but it did spark a solution from Fred.  
"Me and George can sit on one side and lay her across our laps," he proclaimed rather enthusiastically, "but we might need someone else, actually, to support her..."  
Ron jumped up to the plate, and so the girl was handed over to Harry whilst the others climbed in. It was like holding a feather, Harry noticed, his arms barely registered her weight. He then ensued to pass her to Hermione, climb inside the carriage, then take her back and lay her across the Weasley boys' knees.  
"Watch her hair there, George, that's better..."  
Once all were ready, the carriage began to ease steadily up the steep hill to the school. The gravel path was rough; everyone's heads kept knocking against the framework. Their journey provided an excellent opportunity to theorise over the girl's identity and the mysterious circumstances surrounding her.  
"She might be a witch, though that wouldn't be congruent with her costume and why she's unconscious – she _is_ only unconscious, right? Check her neck for a pulse," Hermione worried. George tried to test for a pulse, but it was of no use with the jerks of the carriage as it knocked over lumps on the path.  
"We could always try for a heartbeat..." offered Fred, an impish grin on his face, his palm facing her chest.  
"Not while she's wearing _that_ dress, you won't!" Hermione laughed, rolling her eyes. Everyone smirked, excepting Harry, who looked troubled.  
"D'you – you don't think she's a Muggle, do you?"

His words caused an uneasy silence, which wasn't filled as just then, the carriage juddered to a halt outside the school. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry comprised of a magnificent castle that was surrounded by vast grounds and a lake that was home to a giant squid, among no doubt many other more sinister creatures. In the dreadful weather, the castle was illuminated by the partly hidden crescent of a moon that threw an eerie light over it, making it seem intimidating to the new first-years, who were most probably still on the traditional boat journey across the dark lake, accompanied by Hagrid.

The school was laden with many anti-Muggle charms around its circumference, causing every non-magic human to see ugly ruins instead of a grand castle. If a Muggle attempted to draw close to it, Memory Charms had been put in place and made the Muggle forget what exactly they had been trying to do, and want to go home for a steaming mug of tea. These precautions meant that if the anonymous teenager they had found really was a Muggle, the charms had not worked on her, and instead she had somehow been knocked out. The five students dawned on the same conclusion as she was hoisted out of the carriage and carried through the cavernous Entrance Hall and up the stairs to Dumbledore's office.


	2. Chapter Two: She Wakes

**Chapter Two: She Wakes**

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**

Upon reaching the seventh floor, sweating and exhausted, Harry led his friends to a statue of a rather unattractive gargoyle.  
"Ice mice," he murmured, remembering Dumbledore's mention of the magical sweets from before. The gargoyle leapt aside, and the wall behind cracked into two, parting slowly to reveal a narrow cylindrical space that held a single granite step inside it. Encouraging the others, he entered the hidden opening and hopped onto the step. It immediately began to move upwards, curving into a stone spiral staircase. They joined Harry, watching the stairs snake up at least another floor, where it stopped in front of an oak door, embellished with a gleaming brass knocker in the shape of a griffin. Harry, who was closest, reached out to hit it, but the door was swiftly opened by their Headmaster before he touched it.

"Welcome to my office," he smiled, "Excuse me for the hefty amount of climbing you've had to accomplish in order to get here. Come in, come in!"  
A great warmth hugged them as they entered, a fire was crackling in the hearth. Dumbledore spread his arms out in a gesture that invited his students to look around the homely room.  
"Blimey, look at this!" Ron exclaimed as he spotted Fawkes, Dumbledore's striking scarlet phoenix, who was perched on the top of a sparkling golden stand. Fred and George were trying to bully the Sorting Hat into revealing his secrets, Hermione had lost herself in the adjoining private library, and Harry was admiring the sword of Godric Gryffindor, one of the school's founders, that winked at him from inside its glass case.  
Their amusements were to finish, however, as Dumbledore clapped his hands together and gestured them to take a seat in the visitor's chairs next to his desk.  
"I gather that you have reached the assumption that this young lady here is a Muggle?" he asked, peering at them from over his spectacles. They nodded. "You are correct. Professor McGonagall, Hagrid and I were just considering how she could have reached this state, and overcome our strong precautions. Miss Granger, I think you may have an inkling?"  
Hermione looked as though she had no idea what the Headmaster was talking about.  
"I hear you rather enjoy reading about the school, hm?"  
Her eyes lit up as she understood what Dumbledore meant. "I do remember reading in _Hogwarts: a History_—" Harry and Ron smirked - Hermione quoted this book so frequently she practically worshipped it, "—that there were some Memory Charms in place, but it didn't mention anything about spells that would knock out a Muggle..."  
"That is because never before has a Muggle overcome the Memory Charms. This is a first, as far as I know." Dumbledore's words were backed up by the nods of the past Headmasters and Headmistresses in the paintings on the walls around them. "Therefore, we must be sharp-minded and cautious. I will let you in on a well-kept secret – before now, only the Heads of Hogwarts have known about it, but I must divulge if we want to progress any further with this problem. There is another form of protection primed around the school, though as I said before, it has never been used. I used to wonder why it was even there in the first place. It is a Stunning Spell – have you came across them before?"  
"Please, sir, they were used at the World Cup," Hermione sounded like a House Elf.  
"Yes, Miss Granger, they were. They were set up here as a last resort, but I have checked our patient here, and she _has not been stunned_."  
Ron looked completely lost, Hermione gasped and Fred and George asked "What?" simultaneously. Harry was shaking his head.  
"But Professor, that's impossible..." he uttered in disbelief.  
"One can block a Stunning Spell by using _Protego_, which acts as a shield, but of course this girl couldn't have used that – does anyone care to hypothesize what actually happened?" Dumbledore asked with a polite air that suggested he already had an idea. They sat mutely, looking perplexed.  
"No? I'll share my theory for you, then. I have reason to believe that this young lady has a very powerful mind, which caused her to unknowingly defeat the Memory Charms. It is difficult to comprehend, but as she was about to be stunned, she conjured a shield without the use of magic and blocked it. The force would have been enough to send her flying backwards, thus resulting in her colliding violently with the ground. I judge that this is why she is unconscious – if it happens to be the truth then she will no doubt have been bleeding, so would you care to check the back of her head, please, Ronald?"  
Ron, who was sitting nearest to her, looked petrified as he reached under her hair. He recoiled as he felt a tender spot on her skull; it was damp and warm. Glancing at his hand, he saw bloodstains. Ron explained what he had felt to the others, who turned to gaze at Dumbledore in awe. He had been spot on, and they had no clue as to how he had managed to figure it out. That being said, he was rumoured to be the greatest wizard ever to have lived, so he must have bucketfuls of wisdom. The astonished silence was broken by a tiny catching of breath from the Muggle girl; she was stirring.  
"Our protégée is waking, but I'm afraid I must return her to a sleeping state, for it is time for the Sorting of our first-years." He murmured something incomprehensible whilst holding a hand on her forehead, and her head instantly fell back onto her shoulder, her lips slightly parted.  
"I _did_ like Miss Monroe," Dumbledore mused to himself, "It was an awful tragedy when she passed..." he sighed as he led them not back to the oak door that they had entered by, but instead to another exit that was past his miniature library. This door opened to another spiral staircase, one that appeared to be never-ending as they descended it. Dumbledore was still nattering about the film works of Marilyn Monroe, and was recounting a wild party they had both attended one evening in New York that involved an elephant.

After about five minutes, the staircase came to an end in front of yet another oak door. Dumbledore pushed it open – it led directly into the Great Hall. They could see the four very long tables, one for each House, crammed with students in pointed hats and black uniform robes. Their Headmaster winked at them as he headed to the staff table in front of them and took his seat; they too rushed over to Gryffindor table and sat down. Whispers echoed around the Hall and many people tried to tug at their robes, asking what had happened, who it was, why they had been involved. Harry and the others kept tight-lipped, understanding that Dumbledore had confided in them with trust, and not daring to break that.  
Shortly after they had reached their places at the table, Professor McGonagall entered, preceding a herd of tremendously nervous new pupils whose eyes were darting around like Dr. Filibuster's Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks – fond favourites of Fred and George.  
She unravelled a roll of parchment once they reached the top point of the Great Hall, and began to call names – the Sorting procedure had begun. It was the first time Harry had been present for the tradition except for his own Sorting, so he was somewhat interested in watching. After about ten names had been called, however, his attention had dwindled significantly, his mind wandering to thoughts about the Muggle girl and the enigmatic events to come this year. He was brought back to the present when the sumptuous smells of various foods wafted under his nose. The congregation of students and professors tucked in to a delicious meal, and superficial chatter accompanied the cuisine right until the last crumbs of desserts had faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean.  
Albus Dumbledore rose to his feet and the buzzing of gossip ceased immediately.  
He rattled through some notices, including additions to Filch the caretaker's 'Banned Items' list, the Forest in the grounds being forbidden as per usual, but then his expression hardened slightly.  
"I am afraid that I must issue a word of caution. Dementors have been posted to guard the circumference of the school. They are filthy creatures; beings that prey from feelings of love and happiness. I have been given their vow that they shall stay far from the castle at all times – the only reason they were instated being for the best interests of your safety. Goodnight, then, everybody – and welcome back to another year at Hogwarts!"  
He bowed slightly before casting a pointed glance over to the Gryffindor table, where Harry, Ron, Hermione and the twins were seated. They rose with the others of their house, but instead of joining the sea of students flocking out of the Hall, they headed to the newly-discovered door at which Dumbledore was waiting.

He escorted them back upstairs to his office, where Fred and George stopped chatting about Sirius Black's possible whereabouts, Ron and Harry stopped murmuring about the murderer's intentions, and Hermione stopped protesting to anyone who she thought was listening about the dangers of Dementors.  
"I'm afraid you will have to rein in your excitement for a moment whilst we decide the fate of our young friend here," he said tiredly, gesturing them to sit down once more. "Please be considerate and follow my lead – I am about to wake her," He placed his hand against the sleeping girl's forehead again and muttered under his breath. At once, her eyelids fluttered open, showing them wide, almond-shaped hazel eyes, framed by long, thick eyelashes. She was an unconventional beauty; her appearance was elfin.  
She gasped as she came back to full consciousness. Her eyes flicked from Dumbledore, to the others, and finally to his office. She looked startled, like a rabbit caught in the headlamps of a car.  
"Hush, now, don't be upset – we found you unconscious on the ground just over an hour ago, we've been waiting for you to come around... how is your head?" Dumbledore sounded concerned, but spoke in the most natural, soothing tone one could have imagined.  
"A bit sore, I guess... where am I?" her voice was musical with a sweet, lilting Southern Ireland cadence. Her eyes had now rested on the strange silver objects on Dumbledore's desk that were emitting small puffs of blue smoke. Dumbledore sighed.  
"You are safe, and that is all that matters – these children are going to escort you to the hospital wing where our matron can help you get some rest."  
"I hate to sound rude, sir, but where am I and who are you?" She looked frightened and worried, her teeth chattering. George stood up and strode over to her, removing his school robe.  
"I'm George, and _you_ must be freezing," he smiled, "here – throw this on and let's get going." After she had put the robe on, the girl yawned and seemed to be too tired to resume her questioning as George guided her to the door.  
"'Scuse me," she murmured apologetically. "I'm Sami – Samantha – O'Rourke..." she nearly tripped and fell down the stairs at this point; George had to fling out his arms to steady her. She removed the white heels from her feet and carried them for the rest of the journey to the hospital wing, walking barefoot.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Fred decided to hang back for a minute, mainly to find out what Dumbledore's next actions would be, but also to let Sami have some space and not flood her with many new acquaintances at once.  
"Professor, I was thinking before... is she like the opposite of a Squib?" Harry asked. A Squib was a term for someone born into a wizarding family that showed no evidence of being magic themselves. He and the others had discovered that Argus Filch, the caretaker, was a Squib when they found documents on his desk for a Kwikspell course.  
"You know, my boy, you might be right. I presume that tomorrow she will wish to be collected by family, but this occurrence is far too extraordinary to overlook..."  
"But Professor, you're not suggesting she stay at Hogwarts – _are_ you?" Hermione's eyes looked like they were about to pop out of her head. Dumbledore merely took in a breath of contemplation and twiddled his beard again.  
"I think, once I have consulted her heritage, we may enrol her a Hogwarts," he said pensively. "It is nearly after-hours, you had all better head to your dormitories. Oh, and before I forget, in the morning you will be excused from your classes – please proceed straight to the hospital wing after breakfast. Goodnight," he smiled.  
They exited his office stunned. After they had passed the ugly statue of the gargoyle, and were well out of earshot, Hermione began to hiss about the risks of bringing a Muggle into the school. The boys didn't even bother to argue – they too believed that Dumbledore was being reckless in his decision. As the portrait of the Fat Lady, the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, loomed, George came hopping up the stairs behind them, breathless.  
"I told Madam Pomfrey..." he said, "And Sami... she thinks she's overtired... seeing the paintings moving..."  
That thought hadn't occurred to the others. Of course she would notice talking watercolours on the wall – paintings and photographs were static in the Muggle realm.  
Entering the common room, they were surprised to see it still fairly occupied – the reason being that everyone was waiting up for them.  
"Who is she? What happened?"  
"Did Sirius get her?"  
"Bet her soul was sucked out by them nasty Dementors, I bet..."  
They didn't answer any of the shrieks and pushed through the crowd to their dormitories just shaking their heads. Dumbledore wouldn't want them saying anything, so they judged to zip their mouths and keep their heads down, at least until Sami's future had been decided.


	3. Chapter Three: Did He Just Say Owl?

**Chapter Three: Did He Just Say _Owl_?

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**

Following a rushed breakfast of eggs, bacon and toast, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred and George didn't hang about in the Great Hall as they usually would have done. Instead, they waited to receive their new timetables for the year – second-years chose additional subjects to take in their third-year – then set off to the hospital wing. On the way, Ron glanced at Hermione's timetable to see it crammed full of almost every extra subject there was to choose from.  
"Hermione, they've got your timetable wrong, look – 9:00am Arithmancy, there, then beneath it 9:00 Ancient Runes... do they expect you to be in two classes at once or something?"  
"Don't be silly, Ron," Hermione said dismissively, "Nobody could be in two places at once."  
Her closed expression displayed that that was the last word she had on the topic.

Dumbledore was already waiting outside of the hospital wing door when they arrived. He looked uncharacteristically fatigued – the pressures of Sirius Black being on the loose as well as this incident were clearly weighting him down.  
"Good mornings – you're here bright and early, well done – are you ready to go inside?"  
They entered through the polished door into the hospital wing. Sweeping the sterile room, they saw that Sami was the only occupant of a bed – she still seemed to be sleeping. Madam Pomfrey scurried over to them, her pale face looking flushed and extremely vexed, and she ushered Dumbledore into her office.  
"Take a seat, take a seat – I shall only be a minute," he waved at the bedsteads adjacent to Rebecca's, which moved closer to the occupied one. They arranged themselves on either side of her, watching nervously for any signs of her stirring. She looked peaceful and undisturbed, still wearing her dress and George's cloak – they pitied her, for in a few minutes she would wake up to receive some shocking news that would change her life forever.  
Dumbledore returned, after coaxing an anxious Madame Pomfrey.  
He nodded at Hermione, who called softly, "Sami?" Sami took a breath; she was waking. "Sami?"  
Her eyes opened and she eased up into a sitting position, propping up her pillow to lean against.  
"Good morning," Dumbledore said brightly, "You had a good sleep, I hope?"  
She nodded warily.  
"I believe introductions are in order, eh? My name is Professor Dumbledore, and here with me I have Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger, Fred Weasley, and you met George Weasley last night, I see." Each student smiled in turn and murmured 'Good morning,'. Before Sami had the chance to interject, Dumbledore continued.  
"Do you mind telling us what you were doing last night, before we found you? It would help us an awful lot..."  
Sami considered her options for a moment, before relenting.  
"Okay. I was at my friend's house – it was her birthday yesterday, you see, and she was throwing a fancy dress party. I was torn between going as Marilyn Monroe or Audrey Hepburn, but my older sister already had this costume, so I decided on Marilyn. Anyway, the party had – turned sour, so I left, after a walk. Didn't know where I was going, to be honest, I wasn't familiar with round there, and eventually I found myself near the ruins. You know the ones?" she asked because when the word 'ruins' had been mentioned, a flicker of a smile had lit up Dumbledore's face. "Well, as I was saying, I found myself there, and stopped. My bag, I realised I'd left it back at the party, and it had my mobile in, so I was pretty much stranded. I thought I should carry on walking to the nearest busy area, where I could try to get home, so I carried on walking after the direction of the ruins, when this – this bright light came out of nowhere... everything flashed green, it was blinding... I must have tripped over so, because I remember hitting my head on the ground—" she winced "—and everything went black."  
"Thank you for your wonderful recount – it has proved most helpful. I'm no doctor, but I have an inkling as to what happened. Could you tell me, Miss O'Rourke... do _odd_ things ever happen around you? Unfortunate things, things that appear to happen without a cause?"  
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, but again, she decided to divulge.  
"Hold on now... now you mention it, s'true..." she looked away, but not before sadness could be seen to materialize in her wide, deep eyes. She turned back to Dumbledore, with an honest, yet miserable, expression. "You see... a few years ago, now, strange stuff started to happen. S'hard to put into words... but if I were ever upset, or frustrated... hope you don't think I'm round the bend, but the people that offended me..."  
"Don't fret – I understand exactly what you are trying to describe," Dumbledore soothed her, with a delighted look on his face, "I think we can help you out. Just one more question – what, may I ask, is your family living situation at home?"  
"Live with my older sister, Professor," she replied, with a heart-rending air. Once again, she averted her eyes, which looked like they were filling with tears. "My- my parents, they were killed when I was little. They were in London for a Halloween party – my sister, who were about eight, and me, we were with my nana – and the day after, November 1st, there – there were an explosion, a gas leak..."  
The concerned faces of the people sitting around her turned bleak. Hermione clapped her hands to her mouth, tears filling her own eyes. Dumbledore pulled a handkerchief from one of his cloak pockets and handed it to Sami, who dabbed ferociously at her eyes.  
"_T_-_Twelve_ people, it killed," she wept.

It was a tragic sight to watch, because the wizards and witch knew that Sami's parents, along with ten other Muggles, had not passed due to a gas leak. That story was a cover given to the Muggle world by the Ministry of Magic, who had wiped the minds of any other Muggle witnesses who had happened to be at the scene. The truth of the O'Rourkes' death was in fact that Sirius Black had bumped into his old 'friend' Peter Pettigrew that day, and after Pettigrew had pulled out his wand, ready to attack, Black beat him to it and destroyed him, along with 12 innocent Muggles, leaving a crater in the street. The only piece of Pettigrew the Ministry could find was one of his fingers.  
Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred and George looked gravely at Dumbledore. He returned their glances, a stony expression clouding his usually cheerful face.  
"Miss O'Rourke... I believe that the news I am about to inform you of will change your life forever. Of course, there is always a choice, which you are most certainly entitled to, but I think it best for you to know both sides of the story before your opportunity to decided passes." Sami looked completely bewildered, and more than a little apprehensive.  
"_I'm_ going to be the one who sounds 'round the bend' now, but – Samantha O'Rourke, I have reason to believe that you are no ordinary thirteen-year-old—" the students braced themselves; they knew what was coming, "—you are a witch."  
Surprisingly, Sami stayed serene and merely nodded for Dumbledore to continue.  
"Somewhere along your family lineage, you have ancestors who have traces of magic in their blood. The trait must have faded in your heritage, but I do not have one doubt that you contain wizarding blood. I apologise, Miss O'Rourke, for not being straight with you until now, but usually when one finds out he or she is magic out of the blue – around the age of eleven, but I shall come to that later – they either faint or vomit. I assumed a good night's rest might help.  
"The children around me here are all young wizards and, in Miss Granger's case, witches. We are sitting in the infirmary of a school – but not a grammar school or a comprehensive, like you are used to, no – this school is Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and I am the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. You see, Miss O'Rourke, this establishment is just the beginning, the door, if you feel poetic, to a world you will have never known. At this school, children from the age of eleven are taught to become great and powerful wizards.  
"The wizarding world is not exactly a fairytale, however. Some magic folk who have a nasty attribute – an insatiable hunger for power – turn to Dark Magic and become lost on their way, straying to a path of evil and unforgiveable actions. They do things irrationally, without considering consequences – lives that may be lost, families that may be broken..."  
Throughout Dumbledore's explanation, Sami had sat processing his words without any traces of disbelief or scepticism. Something dawned on her, it could be reflected in her face. With a quiet, trembling voice, her stare still fixed on the hospital sheets, she asked, "Professor Dumbledore, sir... these Dark Wizards..."  
"Yes, my child?"  
She looked up, malice shining in her eyes.  
"Some of them killed my parents, didn't they?"  
Dumbledore sighed, but before he could answer, Sami continued.  
"My whole life, I've researched the circumstances surrounding their death. Nothing added up – a month before, that part of the city had been examined, and no complaints were made by the surveyors. No records of where the leak started, how it was ignited – not a soul could smell gas around the time, and the witnesses, they all said the same old yoke—" she closed her eyes and recited from memory, "—'I could smell gas... the entire street was in panic... all I remember was a loud boom, and screams. It pains me to recollect, I'm sorry.'. Kept a folder full of newspaper clippings and CD recordings of recounts and interviews. Always thought that the witnesses were lying, always, I did. Professor... sir... could you tell me what really happened?"  
"I will, Miss O'Rourke – if you are well enough, we shall bid goodbye for now to these students and begin to prepare... That is, of course, if you accept the invitation to enrol and begin studies here at Hogwarts?"  
"But sir... I amn't magic... am I - allowed?"  
"I'll explain everything shortly. But first, excuse me for a short, I must send an owl to the Ministry. Madam Pomfrey will prepare you some breakfast during my absence."  
He and the others smiled at Sami, before turning to leave. As they reached the door, however, she remembered something.  
"Oh – your cloak!"  
George, who was pleasantly surprised that she had recognised him directly, instead of debating between him and Fred, turned to see her shrugging out of the robe, but he shook his head before she could hand it to him.  
"Hopefully you'll have your own soon, but for now I think you need it more than me."  
She grinned.  
"Oh, and – did he really just say an _owl_?"  
The others just beamed.


	4. Chapter Four: Teapot

**Chapter Four: Teapot

* * *

**

"But Albus, this is madness! Do you not understand the risks and problems caused by permitting entry to a Muggle? Especially at this time, what with the connection to _him_ through her parents..."  
Fudge was pacing around Dumbledore's office, wringing his favourite bowler hat – of striking lime green velvet – with anxiety.  
"Do please take a seat, Cornelius, your marching is rather arduous. Tea?" Dumbledore was handling a floral china teapot, conjuring two cups and saucers to match.  
"One sugar lump, or two?" he asked politely.  
Fudge looked like he could do with the extra energy. The veins along the Minister of Magic's temples were bulging and throbbing, his face was a cherry, and his forehead glistened with sticky beads of sweat, even though the fireplace was not lit.  
Dumbledore took a slurp from his tea, pinkie pointing vertical. He set the cup back onto his saucer and interlaced his fingers, resting his hands on his desk.  
"I am afraid, Cornelius, that I must disagree with you.  
"You see, I believe that sometimes, perplexing events occur for a reason unknown to us, and it is our decisions that help to solve the puzzle we have been confronted with. Whether those decisions are wise or unwise, we will find out at the end, and understand how we should have acted. I believe that, after comprehending her defeat of a Stunning Spell without the aid of a wand to conjure a Shield Charm, Miss O'Rourke possesses rare magical qualities that no wizard has ever before come across.  
"Some research was required before I made judgment, of course, and after following her family line up to two hundred years ago, I can confirm that she does not hold a single drop of wizarding blood in her body. This was simply bewildering, as you can imagine – but earlier I sat with her in this office and handed her my wand. I then told her to say clearly and loudly, '_Lumos!_'. We tried this no less than five times, and on each occasion the spell was cast effectively.  
"To further confirm she was gifted, I proceeded to lock that cabinet" – he pointed to a dark oak cupboard in a corner of the room – "and instructed her this time to try '_Alohomora!'_. Once again, casting the spell five times, Miss O'Rourke unlocked the doors each instance. I think, Cornelius, there is no need for me to vindicate her case any longer, though if you wish, I can ask her to retry the charms in your presence."

Fudge's face had somehow flushed a deeper red, though he didn't look angry. Instead, he looked utterly confounded.  
"Albus, how the heavens did she manage to do those things if she isn't of _wizarding blood_? Surely you can empathize with me here; it doesn't make a shred of sense! The idea is implausible!"  
Dumbledore was now frowning at Fudge's untouched cup of tea, after polishing off his own. He looked at the Minister, a weary expression on his face.  
"Cornelius, what do you think our world thought when Salazar Slytherin announced his ability to speak Parseltongue? Without a doubt, he was shunned and branded as 'evil'. Sadly, there was an inkling of truth in those conspiracies, as we all know, but that is beside the point. Did you know one Harry Potter also has the gift of communicating with snakes? It was first discovered when he set a Burmese Python loose in London Zoo aged eleven. And if you believe that Harry is also wicked, then I suggest you resign from your post as Minister."  
"Of course I don't think _Harry Potter_ is destined to be a Dark wizard, Albus! I am only pointing out that this young Muggle's capability to cast a few spells might not be as much of a phenomenon as you are making out!" he paused, puffing, with a resigned look. "Fine, Albus. I – I see you believe this girl to have magical qualities, and I have faith in you – which is why I hereby grant you permission to enrol a Miss Samantha O'Rourke at Hogwarts. I warn you, however, that there will be outrage when the press catch wind of this, absolute fury among the prouder of our citizens. That isn't an excuse to keep this secret, though – doing that would make the backlash a hundred times worse when the media eventually found out.  
"Miss O'Rourke is from now on your responsibility – if you transpire to be incorrect, then you shall have to deal with the consequences yourself. Good day, Albus."  
With that, Fudge tipped his hat to Dumbledore and Disapparated with a small _pop _from his office.

Dumbledore sighed heavily and rose from his seat, walking to his window. It was slightly open, letting a cool breeze drift in and wash pleasantly over his face. The curtains, as usual, were not drawn and it was lunch break – meaning many students were relaxing and chatting on the grounds. If he craned his head to the left, he could just about make out the puffs of smoke emitting from Hagrid's cabin. Then, scanning the grounds once more, he spotted Harry, Ron, and Hermione assembled on the grass. They appeared to be deep in conversation. He turned from the window and pulled on his cloak, before exiting his office and locking the door. It was about time for lunch, he thought, so the Headmaster headed down to the Great Hall under the orders of his growling stomach. After eating, he decided he would call in to the Hospital Wing where Miss O'Rourke was staying, still exhausted from overcoming the powerful Stunning Spell, and deliver the good news.  
Smells of roast beef and boiled potatoes wafted from the Hall to his nostrils.  
Smashing.


	5. Chapter Five: Draco  Draco Malfoy

**Chapter Five: Draco – Draco _Malfoy_**

**_

* * *

_**

Snape's fist came down forcefully on the desk, causing the phials on its surface to _clink_ together.  
"Miss Granger!" he barked, "If you wish to teach this class then you can apply for the position of Potions Master! Being a nauseating know-it-all in lessons, however, will _not_ get you very far – ten points from Gryffindor!"  
Professor Severus Snape was Harry, Ron, Hermione and probably the whole of Gryffindor House's most despised teacher. He was Head of Slytherin House, and felt mutual about Gryffindor. Taking points from their House was one of his favourite ways to punish them, usually without any cause. In this instance, Hermione had objected to the temperature in which Snape had instructed they brew Hair Growth Potions, which contradicted what was stated in the textbook. She shrank in her seat, her face flushing as red as the flames that flickered underneath her bubbling cauldron.  
"_You_ may alter the temperature if you wish, Miss Granger, and we can test the efficiency of your concoction at the end of the lesson – actually, we'd best not," he leered, a cruel smirk on his sallow face – "I think your hair is thick enough already..."  
The Slytherins, whom Gryffindor had the misfortune to endure Potions lessons with, burst into hoots of laughter at this, making Hermione blush even more.  
She had always been a little self-conscious about her slightly frumpy looks – her brown hair was bushy and hard to tame, and her front teeth were a bit too large – but it had never been so publicly mocked, especially by a _teacher_.  
Harry and Ron were outraged, and began to call Snape some very rude names indeed, but fortunately for them their insults could not be heard by Snape due to the hysterics coming from the Slytherin side of the dungeon classroom.

Snape turned on his heel, his greasy black hair swishing just above his shoulders.  
"Resume your work, Potter, Weasley – else I shall take another five points from Gryffindor for lack of effort."  
Harry and Ron glowered at Snape, before resuming chopping up their cloves of garlic with new-fangled fervour.  
Draco Malfoy's trademark sneer floated across the classroom.  
"Stupid Mudblood," he sniggered, "The only reason she has to try so hard is because she's a filthy – ARGH!"  
He cried out in pain as he was thrown back into with a powerful force – Ron had overheard his jibes and lost his temper, sending Malfoy zooming across the classroom, hitting the wall and crumpling in a whimpering heap on the stone floor.  
"MR. WEASLEY! How DARE you attack a fellow student! FIFTY POINTS from Gryffindor!" Snape roared, springing up from behind his desk. "Goyle – escort Mr. Malfoy to the Hospital Wing immediately. And you, Weasley, you can come with me. I'm taking you to your Head of House for this – you've pushed your luck too far this time!"  
A dazed Ron staggered to the door after Snape, accompanied by thunderous cheers from the Gryffindors.  
"SILENCE! I DEMAND—" Snape's attempts at controlling the Gryffindors were useless, so he clamped a pale hand forcefully on Ron's shoulder and steered him out of the classroom in fury. Hermione was still gawping after Ron, shocked by his sudden outburst in her defence – and Harry was applauding and rooting for him louder than anyone else.  
The smug smiles had been completely wiped off the Slytherins' faces; instead, they were scowling into their cauldrons, muttering to each other.  
Malfoy acted as if he was on his deathbed as he was effortlessly carried out of the classroom by Goyle.

"Against the wall you say, Mr. – Goyle, was it? Well, he doesn't appear to have broken any bones, although if he did land funny on his wrist, he might have sprained it. The case is the same as I said last time you were here, Draco – the dramatics outweigh the damage. Come in anyway, choose a bed, I'll go see what I can find – thank you for escorting Draco here, Mr. Goyle, you can return to your lesson now..."

Madam Pomfrey's appraising voice drifted through the infirmary doors to Sami, who was propped up on her own bed, reading a book that Hermione Granger had left her the morning she was told that she was a witch. It was a thick volume with yellowing pages – it had clearly been read many times – entitled _Hogwarts: A History_, and was fascinating; she absorbed the information on every page eagerly, thanking whoever Professor Garino was for including a Glossary. Hearing Madam Pomfrey's words, however, she understood that someone was to join her in the hospital wing, so she rested the book on her lap, bookmarking her page, and prepared herself for the encounter.  
A boy no older than she sauntered into the room, sweeping it – obviously checking for any other occupants. He was very pale and skinny, with a pointed face; his hair was a white blonde colour and razored shorter at the nape of his neck – a section of it was looser than the rest and hung by his eyes, which were a bright blue. The boy was clutching his right wrist, trying to pass as 'injured', but it was plainly mostly pretence. His attitude and fixed sneer that silently yelled 'I'm superior to you, bow down to me' created an aura of distrust about him, and Sami couldn't help but be suspicious of whoever this boy was.

Unluckily for her, when he caught her eye he puffed out his chest – probably sensing a new opportunity to show off – and plonked down self-importantly on the foot of the bed next to her, swinging his feet up to rest at the end of hers.  
"I'm Draco – Draco _Malfoy_," he announced, thumbs hooked in the lapels of his robes, "I don't believe we've met..."  
Sami smiled forcedly at the revolting boy, Draco _Malfoy_, who was clearly after an introduction.  
"Samantha O'Rourke. We definitely haven't met before, I'm new here."  
He smiled arrogantly, in what he seemed to think was an attractive way.  
"I knew it – it's not possible, to forget meeting a girl like you..."  
Like a blessing in a pointed hat, Madam Pomfrey entered the room – diverting Draco's gaze to her so that Sami could turn away to battle her laughter at his dreadfully corny line.  
"Yes, it does seem to be sprained – not something that this little concoction can't sort out in a minute, though! If you just take this now, you'll be back in the dungeon for the final part of Potions..." Madam Pomfrey said cheerily.  
"But Madam Pomfrey, what about my – er – head traumas?"  
"I beg your pardon, Draco?"  
"Well my head cracked against the wall and it's throbbing like mad... my vision's blurry too... should I take a lie down?"  
The nurse clucked in disapproval and checked her watch.  
"Oh, alright then... you only have ten minutes left of the lesson anyway," she said, before leaving the main wing to her office and closing the door.  
Sami knew she couldn't keep looking in the opposite direction to Draco – Draco _Malfoy_, and resuming reading _Hogwarts: A History_ would be plain anti-social, so opting for the 'grin and bear it' attitude she turned to face him once again.  
"So Samantha – which year are you in?" he looked hopeful.  
"Fourteen in about two months, I am, if that helps?"  
"Ah, you'll be a third-year then – like me," he replied, pleased. Sami tried to smile, but had the feeling that it looked like a weird grimace. Draco – Draco _Malfoy_ continued, "Have you been Sorted yet? You're wearing a Gryffindor robe there,"  
"I beg your pardon, what? 'Sorted'?"

Draco's eyebrows rose doubtfully. Not understanding what the term 'House' meant here was clearly the wrong way to go about being inconspicuous. From the looks of Draco's air of believing himself to be superior to others, admitting she was a – what had Dumbledore said again? – A Muggle probably wasn't the smartest thing to boast about. Professor Dumbledore had told her that she was very unique indeed; she was a phenomenon. He had warned her that 'certain types of wizards, especially the long-distinguished family names' would not approve of her – then she remembered the way Draco had announced his surname. She needed to backlog, and quickly at that.  
"Oh, this robe? No, no – it's not mine–" Draco interrupted her before she could finish, his eyes fixed upon her dress.  
"—Yeah, I thought it looked big for you – whose is it then?"  
"Um, George Weasley's..."  
"George _Weasley_?" Draco's head snapped up and he set his stare into her eyes. "What are you doing wearing _George Weasley's_ robes?" he said, with more than a hint of contempt.  
Sami was confused as to why Draco said the name with such scorn.  
"Well when I got here I wasn't in my school robes, you see now, so he let me borrow his – is that... bad?" she decided to make use of Draco's perceptible attraction to her by delivering the latter part of her sentence with her eyes wide and eyebrows raised in a submissive, curious expression.  
It worked a charm – he had to catch himself before replying.  
"Oh no, no – it's just... well, you don't want to be mixing with _that lot_, you see."  
"What lot?" she tilted her head to one side in mock curiosity.  
"The _Weasleys_," he spat, "and worst of all – _Harry Potter_. He thinks just because he defeated You-Know-Who when he was a baby – got his parents though, but not the one-year-old – he's royalty. And watch out for that disgusting Mudblood girl Hermione Granger, too. You know _their_ type – they don't even belong in Hogwarts, let alone the wizarding world."  
Relief flooded Sami as the bells rang to signal break and Madam Pomfrey re-entered.  
"Okay, Draco, you've milked it enough now – go on outside for break now, go on!"  
He jumped to his feet and turned back around to Sami, who felt sick to her stomach.  
"Hope you get sorted into Slytherin," he said. Then, after a wink – which made Sami even more nauseous – he sauntered out of the hospital wing.

Sami hoped that Hermione, the Weasley brothers, and Harry would visit her during break. She had only briefly met them once before, and was burning to tell them about this instance with Draco – Draco _Malfoy_. Luckily for her, they did decide to drop in on the infirmary – after Hermione had figured out that Draco would have met Sami there.  
The five of them trooped in barely minutes after _Malfoy_ had left, Hermione straggling behind under the weight of at least half a dozen thick books.  
As the boys flopped down onto the edges of the nearest beds to Sami, Hermione placed the books onto the foot of her bed with extreme care and rested her hand on the topmost one.  
"Sure you don't want a tissue, Hermione?" George's twin – Fred, she remembered – quipped.  
"These are my schoolbooks from our first and second year. I think the twins'll lend you theirs from third, and when you start school on Monday you'll have your new ones for your fourth year," she said, ignoring Fred's remark.  
"Wait – _fourth_ year?" Sami was slightly lost. "I'm s'posed to be third year, apparently..."  
Hermione looked surprised, but then smiled widely. "Really? The boys were willing to bet you were in fifth year, like Fred and George here! Oh well, it doesn't matter – it's actually tons better that you're in third, because that's mine, Harry, and Ron's year!"  
Sami blushed slightly at being considered older than she was, but returned Hermione's grin – Draco Malfoy had nearly floated out of her mind, but as she was about to ask which House they were in, his unkind words about them came drifting back.  
"Third-year? Do you know a boy called," she imitated him, puffing up her chest and looking down her nose at the others, "Draco – Draco _MAL-foy_? I just had the unpleasant opportunity of meeting him..."  
"Eugh. We know _him_, alright..." Ron said, glowering at no-one in particular, his fists clenched. Harry, who was sitting between him and Hermione, decided to elaborate.  
"He's a Slytherin, and the most stereotypical one you can find – arrogant..."  
"...offensive..." Hermione offered.  
"...hideous!" Fred and George pitched in simultaneously.  
Sami selected her next words carefully, worrying because she wasn't sure what was deemed offensive to wizards.  
"Um.. He _really _don't like any of you, does he?"  
They snorted.  
"What did he say to you about us, then?" Harry asked, amused.  
"Er – he – he said that I didn't want to be mixing with 'that lot', and when I asked him what 'lot' he was talking about, he sort of – well, he _spat _– 'the Weasleys'... and – and he said that just because you, Harry, beat some guy I think I was supposed to understand called 'You-Know-Who', that you thought you were royalty... and – Hermione, he called you disgusting, a 'Mud'–"  
"Don't say it, please," Hermione choked out.  
"Hermione, I'm sorry, I – I didn't know, I–"  
"No, don't worry, you didn't know any better. You don't understand what Malfoy meant, when he insulted each of us – Harry, do you want to explain?" she looked resignedly at Harry, who took a deep breath.  
"The first thing you need to know is that there are different types of wizards. The only difference between them though, really, is in their blood. You have 'pure-bloods', like Malfoy, who come from a family full of wizards. Then here's 'half-bloods'. One side of these wizards' parents or grandparents contain a witch or wizard, but the other side isn't magic. Finally, you have 'Muggle-born' witches and wizards. These people are born to two Muggles – sorry, non-magic pe–"  
"–Don't apologise! I don't mind the word," Sami smiled and let him continue.  
"Okay, so 'Muggle-borns' are the son or daughter of two Muggles and have Muggle grandparents, but somewhere along the line there _are_ ancestors who have magic blood. It's tricky, the magic gene..." he smiled half-heartedly as he paused, a faraway mist in his eyes that Sami recognised all too well. She wanted to comfort him, but knew it would be too awkward – they barely knew each other. Thankfully, Ron finished off the explanation for Harry before the uncomfortable silence could set in.  
"The word that Malfoy called Hermione means 'dirty blood' – ridiculous, really, thinking that Muggle-borns aren't as talented as other wizards – our Hermione could beat Malfoy any day..."  
"It's not a word you'd expect to hear in civil conversation," Hermione herself added.  
Sami nodded. She had noticed that the others didn't refer to Draco by his first name, which echoed their dislike of him further.  
Once again the bells rang; this time it was to signal that lessons were to resume. Break had passed too quickly, Sami thought – she still had no idea who this 'You-Know-Who' was, but if they had really murdered Harry's parents, they were definitely Dark.  
The others left the hospital wing, Hermione with strict instructions for Sami to begin reading her past notes to 'keep caught up'.  
As they were leaving, Sami heard Fred ask Ron, "Did you _really_ send him smashing into the wall?"  
"Yeah – he deserved it, the slimy git,"  
"George, it seems our little brother is finally living up to our standards..."  
Once their voices had faded completely, Sami sank back against the bedstead – with care not to knock her bruised head – and picked up the first book in the pile. The front of it was neatly labelled "_Charms – Years 1 & 2, Hermione Jean Granger_". Intrigued, Sami began to read.


	6. Chapter Six: Bippity Boppity Boo

**Chapter Six: Bippity Boppity Boo

* * *

**

Sami woke early the following morning. It was a Saturday, and she hoped to be out of the infirmary and into the main school as soon as possible. Shortly after eating her breakfast – a plate of eggs, bacon and sausages, sent up from the kitchens – Madam Pomfrey was called to the door to the hospital wing.  
A severe looking-woman entered the room, shortly preceding Hermione, Harry and Ron. She was wearing emerald robes and her greying hair was pulled tightly back into a bun underneath her black pointed hat. Her silvery-grey eyes were behind a pair of square glasses, and she was carrying a roll of parchment under one arm.  
After a brief discussion with Madam Pomfrey, who seemed to disagree wholly with whatever the woman had told her, she marched towards Sami's bed with a tight-lipped smile.  
"Hello, Miss O'Rourke. I am Professor McGonagall; I teach Transfiguration here at Hogwarts. Today, you, Miss Granger, Masters Potter and Weasley, and I shall take a trip to Diagon Alley where we shall purchase your school supplies," she noticed Sami cast a nervous glance towards Madam Pomfrey's office, "Don't worry – Madam Pomfrey has agreed that you are in good enough health to take the journey. If you'd follow me now, please, we shall get going."  
Sami sprung up from the bed, glad to have finally received the opportunity to look around the school, and joined Hermione, Harry and Ron in following Professor McGonagall's brisk pace.  
"Have you been reading my notes?" Hermione asked her, but was told to 'let her be!' by Ron. Sami barely heard this exchange, she was too busy gawping in awe at the interiors around her.

Paintings lined the walls, and like the pictures in _Hogwarts: A History_ they moved – but the difference with these were that the occupants could enter each others' canvases and socialise. The first time she had spotted them moving was when she had been groggy and half-asleep, so she had simply thought she was imagining it. They were all grouping in large crowds, peering out of the frames at her and whispering to each other. It was really quite entertaining watching them glance away, pretending they weren't spying, as she waved cheerily to them.  
Around a sharp bend, another corridor yawned ahead of them. This one had windows punctuating one side of it; outside, vast grounds stretched far, all meeting in a dense forest that stretched as far as Sami could see. Small clusters of students were outside, dressed in their own clothes. It was shocking to think that this magnificent castle and its immense grounds were so adeptly disguised to an outside eye. Sami wondered how they were to leave the school – where was Diagon Alley, anyway? If it was far, she doubted they would use the Hogwarts Express for such a tiny group of people. Maybe it was only down the road – maybe it too was disguised, and thousands of witches and wizards had flocked there for years, right under her and other Muggles' noses.  
As the end of the corridor neared, they headed down a few flights of stairs. By now, Sami was almost completely lost – all she knew was that the floor they were on now was two lower than the hospital wing. She was just about to ask which floor they were currently striding down, when Professor McGonagall whisked them around a corner and into a flood of students. They were at the grand staircases, some of which above them were moving about at will. Passing through the crowd, Sami felt increasingly self-conscious as she felt the stares of other students. After noticing a fair few gawps at her dress, she wrapped George's robes around her and hoped that they were nearly wherever they were supposed to be going.  
Once they had descended two more flights of stairs and paced down countless more corridors, McGonagall led them into a large, circular room that looked as if it was her office.  
She walked directly to the fireplace and uttered, "_Incendio!_" with a flick of her wand. Sami had read about this charm in Hermione's book, and the results were just as she anticipated, albeit much more impressive than she had imagined. From a small pot that was positioned near the hearth of the now crackling fire, McGonagall scooped a handful of a glittering powder, which she proceeded to dole out to the children.  
"Floo powder," she said to Sami matter-of-factly. "It's easier to explain by showing you. Mr. Potter, could you begin for us please?"  
Harry stepped close to the fire, which was glowing amber, and thrust his Floo powder straight at it. The flames suddenly became emerald; he walked right into their midst and proclaimed 'Diagon Alley!'.  
With that, he had vanished.

"Remember, loudly and clearly," McGonagall said, "Now you, Miss Granger."  
Hermione did the exact same thing as Harry and she too disappeared.  
"Miss O'Rourke, you next."  
Sami took a breath and drew nearer to the fire – once again pleasant, crackling ochre. Into the flames she scattered the powder and stepped. They were licking at her open flesh, making her rapidly hotter and more uncomfortable.  
"D-Diagon Alley!" she yelled, and fell forwards into a bright, multicoloured chasm. She felt herself spinning, her head swimming, becoming woozier by the second, until at last her body left the psychedelic blur and landed on a cold stone floor. Two hands were reaching for her, and she was helped to her feet by Hermione and Harry, who looked equally dizzy. A moment later, Ron rolled out of the grate with a moan. Professor McGonagall followed, managing to climb out as gracefully as ducking from inside a fireplace could be. The children smoothed their clothes, Professor McGonagall adjusted her hat – which had bizarrely stayed to her head throughout the Floo powder transit – and they all looked about their surroundings.  
Around them were piles and piles of books, all stacked to the ceiling. At a glance, Sami could see varying volumes with peculiar titles, such as _Taming Your Skrewt: A Sore Owner's Handbook_, and _Bippity Boppity Boo: Simple Charms for Wizarding Children_. A special display in the window of the bookshop they were standing in held towering heaps of copies of a book entitled _Who Am I?_ that didn't seem to be selling well.  
It was then that a short man wearing brown robes peered out from behind one of the stacks of books nearby.  
"Hello, Professor – what is it you're after today?"  
He was scrutinising the expressions of the students accompanying McGonagall, trying to decipher the situation.  
"We need another set of the booklist for Hogwarts this year," she said, examining her roll of parchment.  
"Ah. Righty-o, then..." The bookseller vanished behind his towers of stock again and returned a few minutes later carrying a tall hoard of books. His eyes then slid fearfully to the far corner of the room, where a cloth-covered cage was rattling and snapping viciously.  
"Never again, not a chance," he murmured as he pulled on a pair of leather gloves and hastened to whip off the cage top. Inside were three thick, furry volumes that were careering around the cage trying to tear each other with their sharp jaws. The bookseller reached apprehensively into the cage and grabbed the nearest copy, which was aiming to sink its teeth into his forearm. Fearful of being mauled, the bookseller quickly grabbed a leather belt that was lying on the tabletop nearby and tied it around the eccentric book, clamping its mouth shut.  
"There you are," he said wearily, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.  
Professor McGonagall handed him some gleaming coins and they swiftly exited the bookshop, allowing the poor man to simmer in peace. Then, she turned to her students.  
"I am going to Gringotts for Miss O'Rourke's money exchange. In the meantime take this purse and begin to purchase her supplies while I am gone. I'll reimburse myself later. Stay out of trouble, now!" She subsequently walked towards a huge, imposing building that looked like it was carved entirely from milky-white marble. This must be a wizarding bank – the idea of exchanging Sami's sterling money made a lot of sense, as she had not recognised the funny coins Professor McGonagall had used to pay for her textbooks.  
Harry suggested they buy Sami's school robes next, as a shop named Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions stood a few yards down the cobbled street which wasn't at all busy that particular day. Not long after Sami had entered the shop and been welcomed brightly by a squat, pleasant witch, the school robes, jumpers, socks, and skirts had all been administered to her. The next stop would be for quills and pots of ink to write with, a practise that Sami was amused by. These were purchased at Scribbulus Writing Instruments, Sami choosing an elegant purple and ivory quill.

After a few more shops had been visited – in addition to a short stay at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, which Harry had particularly recommended – and the four were weighed down under cauldrons and bags, there were only two more vital pieces of equipment that were needed: a pet, and a wand. The latter was what Sami had been waiting to buy all day, having imagined swishing it à la 'Bippity Boppity boo' style and unlocking polished cabinets and lighting its tip. Of course, she knew that it wouldn't be a tacky black-and-white one – especially not a joke wand that collapsed with the phony kids' party magician's sleight of hand – but a sturdy, wooden article. Her short yet highly informative stay in the magical world so far had confirmed it to be traditional and conventional.  
For means of the former, they headed to a small shop that was chock-full of cages and tanks that were packed and piled on top of each other like sardines, each containing an animal. There were vivid orange snails that stuck to the top of their glass tank which were being pawed curiously by cats of every colour or pattern a person could think of; rabbits that metamorphosed right before their very eyes; tortoises with gleaming rhinestones and rubies encrusted upon their shells, and a colony of bats nesting on the ceiling, to name but a few of the both peculiar and intriguing creatures that Sami had the chance to own. By this time, Professor McGonagall had tracked her and the others down, refilled the purse that had nearly been drained completely, then told them to meet her outside a pub she called The Leaky Cauldron at two o'clock, which had given them an hour.  
Sami, having heard the pros and cons of various animals in the shop from Hermione, Ron and Harry, walked to the counter, clutching the jangling purse in her hands. A witch with a scarlet pixie cut and nose ring was serving behind the desk, and was currently trying to poke shreds of lettuce into the tank of a small lizard that was breathing jets of fire. As marvellous as the more exotic and extraordinary species were, Sami's mind had been made up on a common animal that had caught her eye from the moment she entered the shop.  
"I'll take this one here, please," she asked the moody clerk, pointing to a stocky owl with beautiful chestnut-coloured plumage that mingled with a snowy white. It had fluttered right past her, skimming her nose, when she had stepped through the door, and the supple, velvety feel of her feathers, as well as her wide, shining brown eyes, had attracted Sami's attention.  
"Sure you want this one?" the shop assistant jabbed her thumb towards the owl, "It's a tawny, and they're associated with bad luck, even _death_. This girl's had trouble being sold since she was brought here. Been waiting for an owner for nearly two years now, she has, but not a soul'll touch her, what with the superstition..."  
The fact she had been waiting to be bought for so long settled Sami's longing for her even further. She nodded firmly and handed over the price – with some help from Harry – of the delighted owl, despite the clerk's disapproving expression. A cage and some other caring tools were distributed, and Sami left the shop thrilled, with another new friend, whom she christened 'Morrissey' after her favourite singer.  
Not too far down the street stood Ollivander's Wand Shop, and along the way Hermione's curiosity burned too deep to keep quiet. So, as casually as she could muster, she asked Sami: "Your accent's wonderful, where were you brought up?"

Sami smiled as memories of Mayo, the county of Ireland she used to live in, came flooding back to her. Her great-uncle Patrick's cat, a scruffy tabby – appropriately named Cat – that would only come at her call, no-one else's; the bubbling brook that snaked around the family's fields, curving and twisting, meandering right to the sea; the stars, winking at her from the inky-black sky at night, displaying a gallery of shimmering constellations she would join together with her finger; her cottage, picturesque and painted white, constant smoke puffing from its chimney, keeping the place cosy. That house deserved to be on a postcard, the seven-year-old Sami would think, as she would skip past it on her way to Molly Flynn's house every morning. Mrs. Flynn baked the nicest apple pie she knew of, which was simply a bonus reason to visit Molly, a girl she had been best friends with for as long as she could remember. Sami used to pretend that she and Molly were sisters, and they promised each other that when they were older, they would buy a posh apartment in the big city, Dublin, and pluck cream cakes from their butler's silver platter. Mrs. Flynn could join them, of course, as well as Katelyn and Nana Healy and Cat.  
This promise was never kept.  
When Sami was eight, Nana Healy passed away, leaving her and Katelyn with no other relative in Ireland. By now, their Granddad Healy had too passed – their father's parents had died a few years before Sami was even born – along with great-uncle Patrick, and their only other surviving family member was their mother's older sister Maeve, who had lived in England since she had been allowed to move away by her parents at the age of 21. Auntie Maeve was kind enough, but she worked full-time and the sudden burden of two young girls was quite a heavy load for her. Sami and Katelyn liked their auntie enough, but a few years after taking them under her wing, Auntie Maeve also passed away. The sisters were at a loss what to do, being aged eleven and nineteen. They eventually ended up staying in their auntie's house under the care of her beloved housekeeper Annie, a pleasant elderly woman who had been rewarded for her long-time services to Auntie Maeve in her will that bequeathed the house and half of her money to Annie. The remainder of Maeve's wealth was split between Sami and Katelyn – despite being only a quarter, the inheritance they received was substantial. Annie had been reunited with an old friend by mutual connections, and seeing as Katelyn was then twenty and perfectly responsible and capable of handling Sami, who was just as mature and sensible as her elder sister, she used her inheritance from Maeve and migrated to Spain with her rekindled old flame, William. Sami and Katelyn weren't bothered too much about living without an adult, they felt free.  
After explaining this – in briefer terms – to Hermione and the boys, Sami realised that death had followed her around for the entirety of her life. This was a gloomy thought, and she tried to push it to the back of her brain, the murky depths that were never visited and contained past nightmares and embarrassments.

"Well, your past is definitely a story to tell – I've just lived the same place all my life," Hermione said, "It explains why you've lost part of the Irish accent, though... Hold still a moment," She leaned forward and plucked a small beetle from Sami's shoulder, swiping it across her palm so that it flew away into the sky.  
They had stopped in the front alcove entrance to a small brown shop. Through the windows Sami could see countless piles of what looked like shoeboxes neatly stacked along bookshelves and in every space of floor the owner who had arranged them could find. As they stepped onto the threshold, an aged man with wispy white hair and an olive coat poked his head from a door at the rear of the store, and hurried over to them. His large silver eyes bored deep into them, looking like their twinkle reached inside their souls. He clapped his hands together when his grazing scope of the four children landed on Sami.  
"Ah, we have not met previously, and you are not in possession of a wand, I note," he said, "so I presume this is the reason for you entering my shop?"  
He carried straight on talking without giving her the chance to answer his question or even to nod, for he had dashed away, hopped onto one of those ladders that could be propelled across the length of the shelves, and had began to rifle through the shoeboxes, his gaze flitting from their neat labels to Sami's person.  
After a few minutes, and a few different shelves, he scurried back to them, holding about a dozen boxes and murmuring to himself. He fanned them out on a nearby table that Sami was sure had not been there before and proceeded to open the first box. From under sheaths of wadded tissue paper he lifted a wand, holding it by its tips with either index finger.  
"Walnut. 9 ½ inches. Unicorn hair."  
Sami guessed that he was describing the wand, but had no idea how 'unicorn hair' related to it. She held it and, following his prompts, waved it around a little, feeling rather silly. The man – she assumed to be Mr. Ollivander – shook his head passionately and put it back in its case, muttering again. The next wand he handed her was accompanied with 'Maple, dragon heartstring, 11 ¾ inches'. She didn't even receive the chance to sway it, for he took it back immediately on the grounds of it being 'far too long'. At the height of 5ft 1 inch, Sami didn't expect to grow much taller; all of the Healy women were short and petite, less than 5ft 5 inches. Mr. Ollivander then moved another of the three remaining boxes to the rejected pile.  
"The wand is comprised of four qualities that make each distinguishable. Not quite unique, as there are certainly more wizards and witches than possible feature combinations, but certainly distinguishable. These qualities are: length, strength, type of wood, and core. Length generally varies from seven inches to fifteen. By 'strength', I mean whether it is flexible or sturdy, swishy or rigid. The type of wood is fairly self-explanatory, but holds great importance to the personality and traits of the wand. It needs to be fairly balanced with the ultimate character decider, the core. Cores come in many varieties and are the most crucial part of a wand... some are extremely difficult for the wand maker to extract, boomslang venom for example" – he shuddered – "is dreadful to try and use, it takes great skill to craft a wand with that core.  
Ah – I beg your pardon, I was slightly carried away there... let me fetch some more willing contenders for you..." he once again disappeared to the shelves, leaving the children alone to talk. Hermione, Harry and Ron all produced their wands to show Sami, each describing their own wand's materials. Sami was nearly finished hearing the story of how Ron's last wand had snapped, and of his and Harry's 'alternative' journey to Hogwarts the previous year, when Mr. Ollivander returned with two more boxes.  
"You have been a wonderful challenge thus far, Miss – oh, excuse me, I don't know your name," he frowned to himself as Sami told him, "Miss O'Rourke. You are certainly a unique character, and consequently require a unique wand. These four are the only ones that have offered themselves to be worthy of the test.  
You see, the wizard does not choose the wand – the _wand_ chooses the _wizard_."  
Sami now had four wands to try, one of them destined to belong to her. After another maple had proved to not be her 'perfect match', Ollivander drew in a breath. The next wand he lifted, he held in his fingertips, scrutinising its beautiful decoration.  
"This wand is its only kind in the world. Exquisite embellishments, intricate to obtain wandwood, and a rare core."  
Sami marvelled at the wand, noticing how its handle depicted symbols that curved and swirled. It was a creamy colour and it felt wonderfully light to hold, she found as Mr. Ollivander handed it to her carefully. She gave it a wave, it abided to her motions precisely.  
"Ivy. 8 inches. Augurey tail feather. Swishy."  
He gestured her to flick it sharply using his hand; smoke rings puffed from his thumb. Sami copied him, using the wand, and the same grey whirls of smoke were emitted from its tip, swirling about the air and curling into spirals that floated around Ron's head and morphed into a sooty halo before evaporating, the final trace of them being the flecks of dust that came to rest on Ron's shoulder.  
"That, Miss O'Rourke, seems to be the wand for you. Care for it well – the Augurey may carry bad omens around with its wings, but the feathers that lie in your wand will only bring beautiful spell work. The ivy that stung so many it touched previously will only protect you from the Dark forces that surround us and try to puncture our skin with their thorns.  
"Hm. If you would excuse me, I'm going to write that down..."  
"Er – Mr. Ollivander? My wand?"  
"For you – free of charge," he said, eyes twinkling as he waved elegantly to them and walked back through the rear door that led to a storeroom of some sort. Sami admired her wand before slipping it into the pockets of her robes. Harry checked his watch and saw that it was nearly two o'clock; Professor McGonagall would be waiting for them at the Leaky Cauldron in ten minutes.  
Hearing the bell chime merrily as the door swung shut, they left the shop and set off along the cobbles.


	7. Chapter Seven: Prophet

**Chapter Seven: Prophet

* * *

**

The Great Hall was alight with chatter. Despite the First Years having been sorted three evenings ago, a stout wooden stool had been placed in its traditional spot at the front, the Sorting Hat perched atop it. Rumours had been once again fuelled when it was revealed that a girl in fifth year had a potion go wrong and had been rushed to the infirmary. It had been an honest mistake, but she was eager to meet the mysterious girl whose unknown identity was on everyone's lips at the moment. To her disappointment – and curiosity – the girl wasn't there that morning, so after her skin had lost its royal blue shade, and was merely tinged a faint turquoise, she had been excused from the Infirmary and rushed to tell her friends, backed up by the countless number of students who had saw her being escorted somewhere with Professor McGonagall. The new question had become whether she had left and was never to come back, or whether she had possibly even died.

Of course, five students knew that these rumours were ridiculous, but had to keep poker faces and mutter 'I dunno, maybe' at the pestering and pleas for their inside knowledge. But when students entered the Great Hall that evening for dinner and saw the Hat, they all came to realise – not at the same time, however, Harry and Ron spotted Malfoy hissing 'she's being Sorted, idiot' to a typically gormless Goyle – that she was here to stay. The main rumour at that point was that she was a foreign witch who had tried to infiltrate the school under Sirius Black's orders, but the Dementors that were guarding the grounds had tried to suck out her soul. She had somehow escaped – foreign magic, they presumed – but the effects of the Dementors had caused her to pass out. Dumbledore had been keeping her here as a matter of caution.  
This elaborate tale had varied slightly from House to House – the Slytherins decided she was a Death Eater using a potion to mask her identity – but it was shattered the moment the student body set eyes on that stool.  
Thrilled with the new story, they were huddled in groups around their House tables conferring, and Dumbledore had to go to the lengths of extinguishing every candle in the Hall with a wave of his hand to grab their attention. Screams pierced through the air, bullets of fright, and when the candles had been re-lit by Dumbledore's second wave, all eyes were on him.

"Thank you for your attention," he smiled at his students, pleased with himself, "Before dinner begins, I must announce that we have a new student who is to be Sorted this evening. As a display of our warmth and acceptance here at Hogwarts, there is to be an accompanying Feast. So – as I am sure your stomachs are rumbling – let the Sorting begin!" He sat down in his grand chair and set his eyes on the door, still beaming. The eyes of his students, now reduced to tense silence and held breaths, swivelled slowly to the door as well. No-one cared that it was rude to stare.

After a few moments, the door swung open and Professor McGonagall entered just as she had done a few nights previously. Behind her followed a short, pretty girl whose feet danced as she walked to the front. Her face was straight, a smile playing at her red – yet unpainted – lips, save for a tiny hint of worry in her eyes. Along the way she swung to the Gryffindor table and said something in an undertone to George Weasley, who nodded. Students exchanged glances. You could practically see the 'rumour mills' in their minds beginning to churn. They didn't know that all she had said to him was the whereabouts of his robes – in their minds it was a secret, or an affectionate whisper. The new girl stopped at the front a few yards from the chair, Professor McGonagall standing in front and to the left of her.

Some students by the end of their House tables could see her casting a glance along the staff table, drinking in the different appearances of her soon-to-be Professors. A few particular characters that caught her eye were the man dressed entirely in black except for his white cufflinks, the man that sat on at least half a dozen cushions to reach the table, the tatty man, shabbily dressed, and the huge man that sat rather awkwardly between two uneasy wizards who were trying to distance themselves from him. She imagined a wizard hat perched on top of the giant man's head, a rather comical image, but thought that his eyes held a similar twinkle to Dumbledore's. Maybe it came with the beard.  
Professor McGonagall unravelled a roll of parchment no-one had noticed she was carrying. It was merely a scrap; only one name had been written on it.  
"O'Rourke, Samantha," she called, as if there were twenty new students to announce, rather than one. Sami took a breath and assembled herself atop the stool, lifting the frayed hat to sit on her head. She could not see, but its rim opened into lips and eyes peeked out from its folds.  
"My, what a curious character I have here... fear of refutation? I'm not surprised... but I see power inside you, great power... smarts, practicality... care, love... the desire to be loved...  
"You hold traits from almost all of the Houses... I see you are pure of heart, intelligent and determined, and more courageous than you believe yourself to be. But do not fret, you can be Sorted, for your traits _combined_ point to only one direction" – the whole Hall caught its breath, each student hoping the next word the Hat crooned would be the name of their own House – "GRYFFINDOR!"  
The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws clapped politely, despite their dissatisfaction, but over at the Slytherin table Draco Malfoy looked malicious, sending glares to the cheering Gryffindors.  
Sami grinned and removed the hat, seeing Hermione making room for her at the table. She wanted this moment to never end, to loop like your favourite record that you never tired of hearing. She wanted to take a photograph of everything surrounding her, from the magnificent starry ceiling above to the ecstatic faces of her peers, so that she could watch them dance around inside the film frame over and over again.

Once she had reached the table and a golden set of goblet and plate had been conjured up for her, Dumbledore rose from his seat once more. He held his arms wide and declared: "Let the Feast begin!"  
Well, Sami congratulated whoever the chefs were on their effort – foods from all cultures and countries had appeared on the larger glistening plates in the middle of the table, more foods than Sami could list. Opposite her she saw Ron reaching for the steaming and heady scented bowl of buttery boiled potatoes, and Harry filling up his goblet with a sweet-smelling orange liquid. When she asked what it was, he poured some into her own cup and told her to drink. It was syrupy lusciousness in a jug, she decided, so Harry topped up her goblet to the brim. They all clinked glasses, toasting to new beginnings – and to food. By the time she had finished and the plates were cleared, Sami was certain she would never have to eat again.  
"You don't have tea like this _every_ day, do you?" she asked, slightly overwhelmed.  
"No – imagine it! We'd look like Dudley! They're just for special occasions. Won't have another until Halloween, actually..." Sami laughed with the others – she had heard all about Harry and the Dursleys today, though no one had told her about who this You-Know-Who happened to be yet, but she didn't dare ask in fear of ruining such a magnificent evening. After dismissal from Dumbledore, they joined the torrents of students traipsing up to the moving staircases. Sami felt a freezing gust wash over her suddenly, and the next thing she knew there was a lucid, ghostly figure floating in front of her.  
"Welcome to Gryffindor!" the man said. His translucent figure waved to her, "I am Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, but you can call me Sir Nicholas. I'm Gryffindor House... ghost..." Sir Nicholas looked upset at being classed a ghost. "Excuse me..." he said sadly, as he glided away through the staircase.  
Up and up the Gryffindors climbed, being swung to a different destination by the staircases at least twice along the way, until they arrived in front of a portrait of a portly woman dressed in fuchsia. She was 'tra-la-la'-ing and paid no attention to the near fifty students who were crowding around her, more heading up the stairs below them. A tall boy with red hair similar to Ron's had already marched to the front.  
"_Cor leonis_!" he shouted to the portrait's occupant.  
"When I've finished!" she yelled back.  
"That's the Fat Lady," Ron said sideways to Sami, "She's absolutely mental." The Fat Lady was attempting to smash a glass with her voice now, she was trying to hit high As on a scale. Her face purple, she conspicuously knocked it against the frame of the portrait and passed off that she had shattered the wine glass with only her voice, gasping in faux shock and saying 'Oh my! My voice – it's beautiful!'. Percy said the phrase again – Sami recognised that '_Leonis_' meant 'Lion' in Latin, and realised that this was a password for entry to the Common Room.  
"Oh, alright," the Fat Lady huffed, swinging aside to let them pass through. Sami found her wacky temperament amusing, though she understood why Ron and the other Gryffindors thought her to be grating.

As she stepped inside, she saw the whole circular room to be bright, scarlet and gold, with comfy looking chairs arranged around the smouldering fireplace and desks by the windows that looked out from the tower to the grounds. It was a friendly-looking, inviting room that she could settle in immediately. Two spiral stairwells were opposite to the door, presumably leading to the dormitories. The excited students gathered around her as she had barely entered the room, crowding her and asking for a backstory. It reminded her of the musical _Grease_, and she half-expected the other students to burst out into song, hollering 'Tell me more, tell me more!' any second. Naturally, they didn't, but she still felt a little overwhelmed. Then, from the rear of the crowd, she saw the tall George and Fred pressing to the front like a pair of bodyguards, saying 'All right, all right – give the girl some space!', their hands gesticulating pushes to fend everybody off.  
"Right then," Fred said, "If Sami wants to say anything, she can – do you want to say anything?" he directed this question to her.  
"Well, I think I'd better have... the gist is, I didn't know I was magic – if I _am_ magic, really – until just over a day ago, so if youse wouldn't mind, I have to sort out my things..." she could see each person hanging on her every word. The effect she had on them was really rather confusing.  
People had complimented her Mayo lilt before in the UK, but this adoring thing that was going on was more than a bit creepy. She clapped her hands together like Mr. Ollivander had, and hopped down from the top of the cabinet she had been pushed towards. The throng parted to let her pass, silent, and Hermione sprinted to her side to steer her into the correct room. She was to be sharing a dorm with Hermione, which Sami was thankful for, and two other Gryffindor third-year girls. No-one followed them upstairs, though, so Hermione decided to help Sami sort out her new possessions and equipment. Morrissey the tawny owl was sitting in his cage, hooting softly. He livened up at Sami's entrance to the room, and nuzzled his head against her palm as she greeted him. She unlatched the door to his cage and with a final stroke, let him fly out of the window into the violet sky, watching him as his silhouette soared past the moon.

Yellow slivers of morning light filtered in through the half-open window the following morning, snugly caressing Sami's cheek. She woke gently, feeling the autumn breezes blow into her ear. Checking the alarm clock she had positioned on the bedside table next to her, she saw it was only half past eight. None of the other girls were awake yet – she hadn't even noticed them enter last night; she had been so tired that she had fallen asleep after unpacking the suitcase of clothes that had mysteriously been transported to the foot of her four-poster along with her wizarding gear. It had clearly been packed by Katelyn, Sami observed, as she read the note that had been tucked inside the pocket of her most-loved article of clothing – the red and grey striped 'boyfriend' cardigan that fitted her perfectly:

_"Hey there, Madame Magic, it's me, your plain old big sister. An old man with a long beard came to see me last afternoon. He said that you were magic and that you had been chosen to be educated at a school of witchcraft. Of course, I thought he was barking and sent him packing, but then he finished off the painting of my fingernails with a flick of his hand, so I sat up and listened. You can come and visit me at Christmas, tell me all about your magic spells. _

_Always,_

_Your NORMAL sister, Katelyn.  
xoxoxoxoxox_

_P.S: Don't be enticing too many young wizard boys, save some for me."_

This note had made Sami laugh, but tears filled her eyes nevertheless. Her legs had bowed from beneath her, and so, changing into her Beatles t-shirt and pyjama shorts, she had sunk into the four-poster bed, hearing the House still buzzing downstairs.

Glancing around the dorm now, the other girls were still asleep, so Sami treaded quietly as possible to the trunk at the bottom of her bed and pulled out the Walkman her sister had gifted her last Christmas. Clamping the headphones over her ears, she pressed on the 'Play' button, waiting for the disc to whir inside and the drumming to begin. Nothing happened. Not a single sound reverberated from the machine. She tipped it upside down and checked the batteries – they were in there right, and another small note was tacked to the interior of the battery compartment that read _'Changed them. Hakuna Matata!'_. Sami blew inside the Walkman and rubbed the disc clean on her shirt. She tried again, but with the same ineffective results.  
Giving up, she exchanged the Walkman for _Hogwarts: A History _and flipped to the back of the volume. She ran her finger down the Index pages, looking for any mention of Muggle technology, when the sound of footsteps from behind startled her. She spun round – it was only Hermione. Exhaling with relief, she resumed her search for the keywords. Hermione had her head cocked and was examining the situation.

"It won't work here," she said sleepily, sitting next to Sami on the bed, "You mustn't have reached that chapter. Muggle technology doesn't work in the wizard world... unless it's enchanted, sometimes. Ron's dad deals with things like that – he's in the Ministry of Magic, the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office."  
"Wait – does that mean there's no music here?"  
"Oh no, of course not, there are still radios – the artists are just different, that's all. Some are actually really good – have you ever heard of the Weird Sisters?" Hermione asked, but Sami looked devastated. "What's wrong?"  
"Different bands? Does that mean I won't hear The Smiths again, or The Kinks, or Pulp, or Blur?" she was staring at the many CDs her sister had dutifully packed for her. It was clear that Sami was a music enthusiast.  
"Well... yes, sort of..." Hermione was gnawing at her lip, when she had what Sami had dubbed a 'light bulb moment', "You could ask Dumbledore! I'm sure he'd try his best to sort it out for you?"  
This cheered Sami up a bit, the knowledge that there was some hope to be had. By now, one of the other girls had risen. She sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes, before realising that Hermione and Sami were awake too. Her long black hair was tied back in a plait, and she was quite pretty. She introduced herself as Parvati Patil. Parvati's accidentally loud introduction caused the final sleeping girl to stir.  
The second girl had curly blonde hair that bounced messily around her face. She presented herself as Lavender Brown. Once Parvati and Lavender seemed fully awake, they bounded over to Sami and sat on her bed, almost knocking Hermione off it.  
"You're Irish, right? Where were you born?"  
"How'd you end up here?"  
"What was with the dress?"  
"You're gorgeous, did you know?"  
"What about George Weasley?"  
It appeared that they couldn't decide on a particular question, and taking a fleeting look at Hermione, Sami saw that she was unimpressed, her lips pursed and arms folded.  
"Er – Lavender, Parvati – I'm sure we can discuss things another time, but it's early in the morning..." The girls looked dismayed and annoyed at Sami's refusal to gossip. They sent glares to Hermione, then flounced out of the room, arms linked. Sami was stunned. "Are they always like that?"  
"Unfortunately, yes," Hermione replied, "Which is why it's so good to have another Gryffindor girl in this dorm! Oh, that reminds me" – Hermione crossed the room and rummaged in her cabinet drawer, pulling out a scarlet folder – "I've been arranging this for you. With you being Sorted yesterday, I could finish it." She passed it to Sami, who opened the cover and looked at the title page.

It had the school logo printed on it, with Hermione's calligraphy labelling the folder '_A Guide to Hogwarts and the Wizarding World'_. Turning to the first page, a table of contents, Sami saw that held categories like 'Students', 'Classes' and 'Corridors'. She sat with Hermione for at least half an hour, reading and talking through the pages and information written. At around quarter past nine, they closed the book and tucked it under Sami's pillow before heading to the Common Room. It was less lively down there than last night, with about fifteen students milling around and playing wizard snap or just talking. To both Sami and Hermione's relief, Lavender and Parvati were not to be seen. Sami was sure she would get used to them, but harassment wasn't what she needed just then. A week later, once she'd completely settled and partook in at least one class, fine – but not the moment she was flung into the school.

Harry and Ron were sitting on one of the sofas near the fireplace. Hermione spotted them and she and Sami walked over to sit with them.  
"'Morning," Ron yawned. He hated mornings, and it was a Sunday, his lie-in day, but it was difficult to sleep with Seamus and Dean's chatter about Sami at nine a.m. The group talked for a while about the electives Sami should choose, and were comparing timetables when George and Fred strolled from the boys' dormitory staircase to their two sofas. Hermione was currently crouching by Harry and Ron, arguing about Ancient Runes, and Sami – who had tuned out the conversation five minutes ago – was gazing into the fireplace, deep in thought. The twins plonked down on either side of her, sending her whooshing back to the present with a jerk. She noted that George was wearing his Gryffindor robes again.  
"What's up, fire girl?" said Fred.  
"What? Oh, nothing... I just like fire, y'know... it dances." She tilted her head to one side, looking at the fluttering amber flames.  
"It's not so pretty when it's burning your house down, I guess," Fred said. He checked his watch. "Half nine – grub!" He and Ron leapt to their feet, followed by Sami, Hermione, Harry and George, and walked downstairs to the Great Hall. It was fairly crowded and once again vivacious with discussion, people swarming around one or two others seated at the House tables. As they entered, all eyes turned to them and the Hall fell silent. Awkwardly, they walked to the Gryffindor table. Sami was looking around at the faces of the other students when Draco Malfoy caught her eye. He was one of the individuals that everybody else was gathered around, and he was holding a newspaper. His expression was one of immense disgust and loathing. It made Sami slightly scared, so she broke eye contact and hurried to sit down. Even her fellow Gryffindors were hushed, looking at her with shock in their eyes. What had happened overnight that had made everyone's reception of her change? Then she caught on – the clusters of students had been craning to read the newspaper before she had entered. Scoping for the nearest paper-wielder, she spotted a boy _A Guide to Hogwarts_ had identified as Neville Longbottom holding one. He didn't seem disgusted, or shocked, by her, instead he appeared nervous about the mass of people surrounding him. Neville slid the newspaper across the table to Sami. With a heavy heart, she read:

_**MUGGLE SCANDAL!**__  
By Rita Skeeter_

_A girl without any magical ancestry, from County Mayo, Ireland, has been confirmed to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The thirteen-year-old Samantha O'Rourke was found near the school, and subsequently enrolled despite having entirely Muggle ancestors.  
The writer herself has no prejudice against Muggle-born wizards or witches, but the idea of a Muggle being educated magic is preposterous.  
O'Rourke was spotted in Diagon Alley on Saturday 4__th__ September, accompanied by none other than Harry Potter, purchasing school equipment. It is believed that she was headed to select a wand from Ollivander's Wand Shop. Our reliable sources overheard a conversation in which she described her troubled – and completely Muggle – past and relatives to Potter, and immediately contacted the _Prophet_.  
Ministry officials claimed to know nothing of any Muggle acceptance to Hogwarts, and so the writer – ever persistent in serving the best stories to her faithful readers – took her queries straight to the top, to the main man, Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge. Fudge stated that 'The matters of Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts School, and any students that attend it are private and the business of the Headmaster.' He then told the writer, who had stuck to her guns in questioning him further, that 'A new student _has _been enrolled at the school but her personal details are confidential.'  
Whoops! It looks like Cornelius has slipped up there, and further proved our argument, by including a gender of the mysterious 'new student'.  
The writer is permitted to disclose her personal opinions, and can't help but wonder: Is Miss O'Rourke an old friend of Harry Potter's, who shares his messy past? Did she and Potter grow ever closer, until he found that Hogwarts was too far from the Muggle world? The writer knows of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore's favour for Potter; maybe he managed to pull the wool over the Ministry's eyes, but he isn't fooling the writer. Schoolboy loves are sweet, Albus, but meddling with the wizard and Muggle boundaries is not.  
Pictured opposite is Samantha O'Rourke, clothed in what the writer can only describe as an 'appealing' dress. Tell me, wizarding world – is she innocent, or is she playing games with Harry's heart?_

By the time Sami had finished reading the article, she had had to sit down. Her stomach lurched more and more with every passing sentence. The article was ridiculous, of course, but the Hogwarts students – and the rest of the world, for that matter – didn't know that. To all their knowledge, she was a mysterious newcomer who had certainly 'made an entrance' three years past the time students normally arrived. Why couldn't she be a temptress who only longed for a pass inside the wizarding world? Why couldn't she be an old flame of Harry Potter's? He himself was already rather shady.  
Sami heard the rustling of paper as it hit the table; she had dropped it back onto the table. Immediately, it had been snatched back up by Ron, who was holding it up so that Hermione, Harry and the twins could read with him.  
"What?" George yelled as soon as he had finished reading, shattering the window of silence that had formed in the Great Hall, "Do you guys really believe _Rita Skeeter_? She's the one who said that Sirius Black escaping from Azkaban was a 'good wake-up for the Ministry pillocks'!"  
"Didn't deny she was a Muggle there, did you Weasley?" Draco Malfoy sneered from the Slytherin table.  
"That's because she isn't!" Hermione joined. "She managed to defeat a powerful Stunning spell with no wand or previous knowledge of magic – she clearly has some wizarding blood in her!"  
"You can shut up, Granger," Malfoy continued, standing up and striding towards them. "She might have some _oomph_," he had reached their table and had stopped next to Sami, whose face was vacant, "but it doesn't change the fact that she's a _useless, filthy little Muggle who'll never belong_." He spat the last insult with a hiss in her ear, though still announcing it loud enough for the rest of the Hall to hear. Sami flinched.  
The next thing anyone knew, Malfoy was being sent shooting backwards through the air, landing with a _crack_ against the floor. George, Fred, Harry, and Ron were all standing with their wands pointed at him, fury wild in their eyes. They had all hit Malfoy simultaneously with different jinxes, each one affecting him. He lay shuddering and twitching, looking like he was having a seizure, until each of the boys uttered counter curses. Malfoy was still rolling on the ground like a fish out of water, whimpering and clutching his stomach.  
"Apologise!"  
He shook his head manically. "No – never!" he shrieked.  
"Leave it, lads. Please," Sami had risen from her seat. "He isn't worth it." She looked disdainfully at Malfoy, then turned to the still-watching Hall and bowed sarcastically. "Well, the show's over, everybody," she said, drily, before turning and walking out of the doors to the Entrance Hall, trying to keep her head held high. She heard three quarters of the Hall burst into admiring applause as she was stumbling her way up the marble staircase blindly, eyes filling with tears.


	8. Chapter Eight: Tickle The Pear

**Chapter Eight: Tickle the Pear

* * *

**

She couldn't be found. Not in the common room, dormitory, Great Hall, or any of the girls' bathrooms. Eventually they gave up; let her clear out her emotions in peace, much to Hermione's objection. Even at lunchtime, Sami didn't show in the Hall. They waited until the last trickles of students had been and gone, but she didn't arrive to eat at all. Hogwarts was huge, with hundreds of corridors that could lead to one room one minute and a different the next. By dinner, the boys had inherited Hermione's worries – she could be crouched in a corner of any corridor, entirely alone and completely lost. She could even be in the forest, moments away from being devoured by some of the beasts Hagrid kept in there. Once dinner was over and students returned to their common rooms to while away the last few hours of the weekend, Hermione, Harry, Ron, George and Fred were chomping at the bit. During dinner in the Hall they had heard Malfoy loudly airing his views from the Slytherin table.  
"If she's as smart as the Hat said her to be, she'll have gone home to rejoin the rest of _her_ kind," he said at one point. The other insults thrown sounded along the same lines, but the more he affronted her, the less convincing his despising feelings seemed.  
Every other Gryffindor had resigned to their dormitories by lights out, and Sami still hadn't slipped through the common room. They decided the best thing to do was to simply go to bed; sitting around with their wands lit by 'Lumos' wasn't going to help anything. If she had avoided them all day, the last thing she'd want would to find them waiting for her at midnight.

"Thanks a bunch for today, Hagrid," she said, leaving the cabin and treading carefully around the abnormally-sized orange pumpkins that were sprouting everywhere, "You've helped me a lot. See you next lesson, then!" Making her way stealthily to the castle, she checked her watch. It was nine forty-five; lights out would be in three-quarters of an hour. Hagrid, the ex-student turned groundskeeper of Hogwarts, had found her near the fray of the forest that morning. He'd told her of it being forbidden and that she shouldn't flout the rules, but then he realised she was the new student and invited her in for a cup of tea. She had learned of his fondness for fantastic beasts and creatures, his many hazardous 'pets' that he swore to be 'lovely when yeh get ter know 'em!' and how he had started work as the Care of Magical Creatures Professor this year, but had been forewarned by Dumbledore to keep the more exotic animals at a safe bay for now.  
After he'd cheered her up, Hagrid asked the reason for her being by the forest that morning. He asked where her friends had been, and she had come to know that he and Harry, Ron and Hermione were close. It was hard not to like Hagrid, what with his jolly disposition and twinkly eyes – she recognised him as the 'tall man' she'd spotted the night of the Sorting.  
Everything she'd been restraining, all her fears, came spilling out of her like an upturned jug of water. Hagrid listened politely, nodding with comprehension as she told her tale – how she was plainly ordinary and had been caught up in so much over the past few days that she felt her head would implode, how she had felt like she had finally belonged, but it had all gone awry with the _Daily Prophet_ newspaper article this morning. Hagrid stood up and began shuffling about the tiny kitchen, claiming that 'this needs another cup o' tea'. He then told her of how he hadn't belonged because he too was different, and how Dumbledore was a great man who had accepted him when the rest of the world wouldn't. It was clear he respected Dumbledore tremendously; Sami could see it reflected in his eyes. She was offered some cabbage soup, which he said he had made fresh from the cabbages he'd grown outside. It was a peculiar thing to taste, but she hadn't eaten breakfast or lunch, so Sami managed to drain it within five minutes. After, he presented some treacle fudge – also homemade – which succeeded in clamping her mouth shut. With the help of some pumpkin juice she managed to swallow it, Hagrid beaming at his cooking being enjoyed.

She left the hut that evening with a wonderful piece of advice: 'When yeh feel like yeh heart's been shattered n' broken ter pieces, look ter yeh friends fer help – they'll rebuild it fer yeh, don't yeh worry.'  
Everyone would be in their common rooms by now, Sami thought, as she slipped into the Entrance Hall. She decided to wait until lights out to sneak into theirs; despite Hagrid's fragment of wisdom she couldn't quite face her House that night. But with half an hour to kill, where was there to go?  
The door to the Great Hall was still open a crack, candlelight streaming through. Upon entering silently, it seemed Dumbledore always left a large candle that stood atop a grand bronze holder lit, even after he himself had left for bed. She sat inside the Hall, looking at the paintings, the enchanted ceiling, and time slid by almost without her noticing. With ten minutes until lights out, she decided to head for the common room. It had been on the fourth floor, she recalled, and was behind the Fat Lady portrait. Trying to follow in the Prefect's path yesterday, Sami crept up the staircases – all were dormant that night, thankfully, and she managed to make it to the unflattering portrait with roughly a minute to spare.  
"_Cor leonis_," she spoke to the Fat Lady, who nodded sleepily and swung open to reveal the deserted and dark common room, save for the dying embers of a fire. It was cold with the windows open; Sami pulled her robes more tightly around her.  
She swore she just heard a whisper.  
Her body moving purely on frightened adrenaline, she spun 360 degrees on the spot. No-one could be seen – the darkness must be wickedly making her hear things. Startled all the same, she hurried to the girls' stairwell when a hand clamped down tightly on her forearm. Her scream couldn't be heard, there was a hand over her mouth too.  
"Sorry – had to be done," a familiar male voice whispered as she was being shambled to a seat – she couldn't quite place who it belonged to.

Nearer the fire it was easier to see, and as her eyes adjusted, the guy moved around to sit next to her and she could distinguish roughly who it was – George or Fred Weasley. Usually she could tell them apart, but it was difficult to in the poor light. George or Fred reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out something very recognizable that belonged to her, something she hadn't even realised she'd misplaced. It was her wand. After Ollivander's, she must've put it in the pocket, not remembering that the robes weren't hers, for she hadn't had chance to change clothes after Madam Malkin's.  
"Found it before, after dinner – followed them up to the dorm, but I came back down to wait for you. Sorry about the pounce – you were oblivious and would've ended up waking the whole castle," he grinned.  
She tucked the wand in her own pocket and smiled with George.  
"You okay now? Ignore Malfoy, he's a slimy git – don't let him bother you. Where were you today? We looked all over for you – Hermione's dead worried – we all were,"  
"At the forest, about to go for a walk, but Hagrid the groundskeeper found me and steered me away. He helped me out over some tea and fudge – wouldn't accept it again, mind, Lord bless him," she then realised that all she had eaten that day was cabbage soup and a slab of solid treacle. Her hands instinctively felt her stomach, as if that would fill it up.  
George noticed and checked his watch.  
"You can't sleep with an empty stomach, and we don't want you to wither away by the first week – follow me, I'll sort you out," he said, standing up and manoeuvring her to the portrait hole. "I know places."

The castle was silent, even the portraits were sound asleep, snoring in their frames, and George didn't even need a light to find his way. Down many, many stairwells they crept, George leading the way without a hint of reservation or worry of being caught. Sami figured he did this often.  
After roughly five minutes they stopped in front of a large painting of a fruit bowl. Finger to his lips, George reached out with his free hand and stroked the pear. Sami thought he was barmy, until the pear let out a soft giggle and materialised into a solid before their eyes, becoming, effectively, a door handle. He opened the new entrance and ushered her in ahead of him. The massive kitchens stood before Sami, the only sounds being munches and crunches from the far end of the room. She walked over, letting George enter and close the fruit portrait behind them, to find the source of the noises.  
Huddled in a part of the kitchens separate from the main body of gleaming silver appliances and worktops were roughly a hundred small, unusual-looking creatures. Their eyes were huge and bulged from their sockets, their ears took up a wingspan twice as long as their faces and their frames were bony and clothed with a single dirty rag. Their heads snapped up at the sound of Sami's arrival, and the closest ones jumped to their feet – they were tiny little things, measuring roughly three foot high. Sami had just interrupted their dinner, which they didn't seem to be happy about. Their faces brightened, however, when George appeared behind her.  
"Mr. Weasley! Mr. Weasley!" they squealed with joy. "What can us be making you, Mr. Weasley?"  
"Well it's my friend Sami over here that needs the food, really," he said, beckoning to her.  
"Miss Sami, what do you be wanting?"  
"Oh, er – I'll just have a ham sandwich, I think," she said, feeling oddly guilty at the creatures' crestfallen expressions.  
"With chips," George added, nodding at Sami. This cheered the elves up and a few scampered off to work. Some others began propping cushions around, making space close to the fire for them to sit. They thanked them, Sami amused and slightly overwhelmed by their eagerness to serve, and took a seat.  
"House elves," beamed George, "They love it, serving people. Me and Fred go down here all the time – they like to hear our stories of what's going on up above when we visit. Delighted, they are, and they clap their hands and beg for another."

The group of elves that had rushed to prepare the food scuttled back, one bearing a tray holding a delicious-smelling dish of chips and a plate of ham sandwiches with the crusts carefully removed. Their server bowed low as he placed it between them, before backing away to resume his own dinner. Another elf came baring a bottle in either hand – one was the orange liquid Sami recognised as pumpkin juice, the other she had not yet come across.  
"Which drink, Mr. Weasley?" the elf squeaked. The bottles looked far too heavy for her to bear.  
"I think we'll treat Miss O'Rourke with Butterbeer tonight – you couldn't warm it up for us, could you?"  
"Of course, Mr. Weasley, of course!"  
A moment later the elf returned with two steaming, foamy mugs, which she laid on the tray before also bowing when leaving.  
George lifted his mug and clinked it with Sami's. "Trust me, you'll love it."  
She took a sip – it was like a flavour explosion had burst in her mouth. The drink was rich, quenching her newfound thirst perfectly. It tasted like non-sickly butterscotch, and quickly became her new favourite beverage. They ate a few sandwiches and picked at chips, appreciating the food and bizarre ambience, until Sami patted her stomach again, this time signalling she was full. The house elves swarmed immediately, each pushing and shoving to get the chance to clear the dishes. Brushing crumbs from their laps, Sami and George stood up – George pointing out amusedly that the elves weren't much shorter than Sami.  
"Blame the ancestors," she replied, laughing, "But you can't talk, you're six foot at least!"  
They said goodbye to the elves – who were determined to give them chocolate gateaux – and began their silent journey back to the common room.  
After the Fat Lady had been woken up and let them pass, tutting and shaking her head, they headed up to their dorms. It was half past one in the morning.


End file.
